From the Ashes
by EllieMP
Summary: The year is 1978, the location - a gloomy orphanage in a Northern US city... The orphanage just welcomes its latest resident. This is the story of the twelve-year old Peter Caine and his first days at Pineridge; an orphaned boy's struggle to come to terms with his whole world falling apart, and learning to live again. Also few words on destiny's mysterious ways...


**From the Ashes**

It was a sunny morning, autumn's last goodbye before its golden colours transformed into winter whiteness. About thirty of the children living in the big building, surrounding a broad front yard, were enjoying those last sunlit caresses. Some were playing ball, while others had found it hard to resist that tempting pile of leaves under the big lonely oak.

A young supervisor, Mary Henderson, was overlooking the children. She had dismissed some of the morning classes in favour of games in fresh air. 'Those children have nothing', thought she, 'if we can bring such smiles on their faces even for a few hours, then we're doing our job well.' In that moment the principal, Andrew Bine, joined her.

'You don't leave your desk very often, principal.'

'Even I enjoy a little time off every now and then, Mary.' His voice changed. 'Besides, I like to be here when we get new arrivals.'

Mary sighed. She felt guilt and helplessness every time they welcomed a new orphan.

'Do you know the story?'

'Partly; a teenager, remained complete orphan after the place he lived, a monastery or something, burned down few months ago.'

A teenager; Mary was always hoping that if they have to welcome new orphans at all they would be as young as possible. Older children had little or no chance for finding a family.

'A monastery? Wasn't there something about that on the news?'

'Yes, I think I remember, some Buddhist temple in California…'

'I see. … My God, who would make a child travel thousands of miles in such a moment? Don't they have orphanages in California?'

'The social worker told me that the old monk who's been taking care of the boy after the fire had said that this is the city where he was meant to be.'

The principal explored his young employee's face. Mary Henderson was living in reality, in the ugliest, most brutal form of it. There was a hint of arrogance in her voice.

'Wow, a fortune-teller; excellent! Meddle with the feelings of an orphaned child to fulfill what destiny has in store…'

Completely unaware of the prophetic significance of her words, she gave the principal a bored look.

'Well, the man was the boy's legal guardian', added Mr Bine, 'even if he had wished for him to be sent to Canada, that's what they would have done.'

Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of a parking police car. The principal approached, attempting some vague form of good humour. He, as well as all the other teachers in the orphanage, knew the routine all too well. Each time they would try to shield the newcomers from angry orphans' dormant anger, and each time they would fail. At least if the child was a girl chances for a peaceful settling were somewhat greater. With a boy they were non-existent.

A woman and a young officer came out of the car and shook hands with the principal.

'Officer Broderick, we don't get police very often around here', said the principal smiling at his acquaintance.

'Good morning to you, too, principal'. Broderick nodded. 'You see, your new inmate here has quite the temper. One more offence and I'm opening him a file.' These last words he said in a louder voice meaning for the boy, who was still in the car, to hear them.

'I think you're being too harsh, officer. This child's world had just been shattered. He must have built a lot of anger. It's normal if he's a little… edgy.'

'As you say, Bine; he's your responsibility now. But mark my words, if he goes like this that kid will be spending a lot of time in police precincts.'

The principal nodded with a forced smile. He knew Broderick from before the orphanage, when Bine was still a practicing lawyer, and right now he was pretty annoyed that the young officer had not even bothered to learn the poor boy's name.

The woman, who was a social worker, was tapping her fingers on the car roof. She opened the back door.

'Come on, Peter, we're home.'

A tall boy with shaved head came out of the car, and put a black baseball cap on. He looked straight at the woman's face as he was almost as tall as she was.

'I don't have a home.'

Oh, yes, thought the principal, we've got trouble brewing. He approached the boy and took his bag.

'Hi, my name is Andrew.'

'Hi.'

Mr Bine smiled as if he expected exactly this reply.

'If you don't feel like talking, it's OK. I have your name in that file here anyway. But you have to come with me now. I'd love to let you stay out here but it tends to get rather cold at night.'

The boy gave him a half-smile. That guy had a way with words. He did not seem pushy and impatient like the other nerdish social workers he had met.

The principal came back to the young officer.

'So, I'm guessing we'll be seeing more of you, John?'

'Nah, next year they're moving me to a new precinct at the other end of the city. China Town, can you imagine?'

The principal smiled pitifully.

'But I'll be sticking around for a bit more.' He winked and nodded towards the boy. The three adults took their leave, and Mr Bine made sign to the orphan to follow him. They took a few steps when the kid spoke.

'It's Peter.' The man stopped and turned. 'My name is Peter.'

'Nice to meet you, Peter!' He stretched his hand and the teenager responded; a good sign.

In the meantime the yard had become slightly more still than it was few minutes ago. The other children were watching. Some of them have been in this place for years, others for months. And no matter how well adjusted they were, any time a new orphan arrived they were cruelly reminded of their own personal tragedies.

Peter was brought to one of the boys' dormitories. It was small and a less crowded one. The supervisors were keeping it for newcomers. It had a cosy feeling, well, as cosy as a dormitory in an orphanage could be, and was close to the rooms of the sleep-in tutors. In that way the new children were better supervised. First nights were usually the hardest, and for heavier cases they had single rooms where the orphans would stay until they adjusted to the new environment.

The chief psychiatrist, Dr Anne Wolly, was waiting for the new arrival.

'You must be Peter. Hi, I'm Anne.'

'Hi.' Peter looked at her briefly and asked with a flat voice: 'Which is my bed?'

'Here, by the door.' They had decided to keep him there for the first 48 hours, but the principal had a single room on the same floor prepared, too, just in case.

'Do you wish to remain alone?' asked Dr Wolly.

Peter looked at the emptiness ahead of him. 'I wish God had asked me the same question.'

The psychologist was stunned. She shared a look with the principal who was equally astonished. One does not usually expect an adult's reply from a twelve-year old.

The principal felt he had to say something.

'Peter here is 12…'

'Almost 13!' snapped the boy.

'...almost 13… and he has lived in the Northern part of California all his life. And I'm sure he'll be joining us for lunch in an hour?..'

Peter nodded. He sat on his new bed and looked around. The room had seven beds, many windows, all of them with bars, and green walls. He got up and stood by one of the windows. It was overlooking the back yard, which resembled a wide park. There were many trees, a wide meadow, and a bit further away Peter could swear he was seeing water glimmering under the sun, right behind the naked branches. The thought calmed him. If they had a pond or a lake he would be able to make it his new secret place.

'Do you like it?' asked Dr Wolly.

'Yes, it looks nice.' Peter turned. His eyes' sad empty expression touched her. The woman felt she could become friend with the new kid.

Peter somehow managed his first two days at the orphanage. The food was bearable; at least they did not make him eat rice. He had already made a friend, Kyle, an orphan that had arrived six months ago. Kyle was shy and slightly shorter than Peter, even though he was one year older. He was also quite miserable. He loved to go outside to sketch the building, and that often made him the victim of cruel taunts from older boys, especially one, Max Resnoff.

Max was almost 16, very tall and heavy. He had been at the orphanage since he was 10. Few families had fostered him, and all had given up on him within the first month. The teenager was full of rage. He was not exactly an orphan, but with a drug addict mother and a father who would extinguish his fags on his back, he was as good as an orphan.

Max was considering himself the leader of the gang. He always got what he wanted and he knew only one way of achieving it – physical power. The principal had hired a couple of male supervisors to deal precisely with kids like Max. Still, even they could not handle him entirely.

At present Max targeted the new kid. What he liked was for newbies to know who the boss was; what he did not like was the new boy's hair style. That morning Peter was making his way to the class room when Max passed by him and shoved him with his shoulder.

'Watch it, punk.'

Peter did not say anything. He had gathered too much anger already and it threatened to unleash its destructive powers any moment now. All it needed was a catalyst, and for now Max was the best candidate.

Two of Max's allies, Jim, 14, and Angus, 16, stood in Peter's way. They had been through a lot in the early years of their lives, and were now enjoying the power of causing the same pain to others. But that new kid was different. He just looked at them, straight in the eyes, with not even a hint of fear. He returned their threat with nothing but apathy.

Peter looked at Angus, the taller one, then at Jim, who was as tall as he was, and then he looked ahead and made his way between the two boys. The two supervisors, who the kids had gladly nicknamed Kirk & Spock, saw everything but did not interfere. Sometimes, they thought, it was best to let the fire burn itself. Unfortunately the two men could never have predicted how wrong that strategy would turn out to be in the present case.

Peter made it with great difficulty through the day. He had always found it a waste of time to study math and literature since all he wanted to learn were Shaolin principles. Now he simply could not find the point in studying _at all_. Why should he bother, life sucked anyway. His teachers noticed, of course, but preferred to let things be. They had flexible curriculum with classes also during the summer, which would allow children like Peter to adjust and come back to life in their own time.

Dr Anne Wolly had to admit with regret that young Peter was going diligently through all stages of grief. She had warned the supervisors and the principal, and they all expected with worry for the boy to go to the next step: rage.

The fourth day since Peter Caine's arrival at Pineridge, the second biggest orphanage in Sloanville, was a Saturday. It had rained the whole night so the yard was all wet. There were no classes. Peter spent the morning reading the first chapters of 'The Lord of the Rings'. He found with surprise that the book offered a lot of corners for his tormented soul to hide into. It was only after lunch that some sun beams finally made it through the thick layers of clouds. The teenager needed company, so he went outside to look for his friend.

Kyle was by the corner of the backyard, sitting on a plastic bag, sketching the grey façade of the building. On his way Peter was trying to come up with a witty joke about that but quickly abandoned the endeavor. He saw Max approaching his friend and snapping the sketch pad from his hands. A quiet voice had warned the bully to leave the new kid alone at present, so he decided he had all rights to pick on a more obvious target.

'Hey, give me that!'

Kyle jumped and desperately stretched hands trying to regain his pad. Though being a good student, particularly sharp at math, Kyle was talking very little and never tried to fend off his bullies. He would usually press his lips, look down and wait for it to be over. But his sketches meant a lot to him and he wanted them back.

'Uh-oh, look what you've done, girl-pants, you've stained the nice white sheet. Let me clean it for ya.'

Max easily pushed Kyle with one hand and tore off the current page. Then he threw it in a puddle nearby and prepared to tear the previous one, which contained a really faithful sketch of Kyle's dormitory. Just as he was going to tear it off he found his left arm caught in a strong lock and turned back astonished.

'Leave the pad alone', said Peter with a threatening voice. 'You OK, Kyle?'

'I'm fine, get my sketch pad back!'

Max tried to pull his hand from Peter's grasp but to his dismay the boy did not even waggle. Peter then suddenly opened his fingers and Max staggered, nearly falling down.

At that time there were other children in the yard and as soon as Max had come near Kyle two of the older girls ran to call the supervisors. Max's allies were nearby and were about to join and help him out when they noticed the approaching adults. The boys wisely stopped and moved to a safe place behind another observing group where neither the two men, nor the big Max could see them.

Outraged, Max attacked, aiming to punch the new kid in the stomach with all his power. All what he achieved, however, was nearly kissing the gravel, as Peter swiftly stepped aside and with a cradle-like movement of his hands hurled Max to the ground. The tall boy quickly turned and looked at Peter amazed. He got up, took a boxer's position and shouted:

'C'mon, punk, c'mon, I'll smash you like a fly. You'll burn! Come on!'

Suddenly Peter's expressionless face turned red; his hazel eyes opened wide and showed an unknown, almost wild look, like a bull before storming towards a red sheet. His breathing became heavy. Just as he was going to jump against the bully four strong hands grabbed him on both sides.

'OK, kid, that's enough, you won, leave'im alone.' This time Kirk & Spock had interfered; but even they could not prevent what followed during the next one minute.

Entirely focused on the bully, Peter did not pay any attention to the two men on his sides. He was not thinking of consequences, he did not care what would happen to him; all he wanted was to set himself free and get Max.

He lifted his left foot and with a brisk kick hit Kirk on the calf. The man fell on the ground in pain, holding his leg. Before he knew what was happening, Spock felt a heavy blow from an ankle in his stomach. He, too, fell and helplessly observed the bald orphan attacking Max who, after witnessing what befell the two tall grown men, was just about to turn and run.

Too late.

A heavy fist punched him in the face. Max reeled and the next thing he knew was the new kid jumping in the air defying all gravity and stumping his foot right into Max's chest. The tall boy heavily hit the ground. Peter landed like a cat, ran towards his victim, leaned above him and prepared his fist. Right then Kirk's strong hand grabbed him from behind; Spock had to almost lie over him, in a desperate attempt to prevent him from seriously injuring Max. In that moment Kirk & Spock probably saved Max's life; and Peter's.

'What is wrong with you?' Spock was really scared at the thought of what could have happened.

'Leave me alone!' Peter was screaming, vigorously trying to set himself free. A third supervisor arrived and grabbed his other arm. 'Leave me alone!'

In the meantime the nurse came running, followed by the principal and Dr Wolly. Max was sitting, his breathing shallow and slow, trying to regain the breath that had just been taken out of his lungs. His nose was bleeding; there were tears in his eyes. Nobody had ever seen the nearly 1.80 m tall teenager so vulnerable. The nurse made him lie down and checked his pulse.

Then everyone turned gaze at Peter. The boy had stopped resisting. Spock relieved his grip a little, and Peter stood on his knees. He was still breathing heavily. Dr Wolly saw tears also in his eyes and approached. Only now Peter came to realise what he could have done. Tears were running down his face. The other two men felt it was over and also withdrew their grips.

'He said I'll burn', shouted Peter. Dr Wolly came beside him and meant to caress him but did not dare.

'He said I'll burn!' Peter was now crying in loud voice. 'I _should_ have burned! I should have burnt, dammit, _I. _….I…' The last 'I' drowned in the orphan's tears. Peter covered head with both his hands and broke down.

At first the principal was furious with him but now even he could barely swallow his tears. He made a sign for the nurse and one of the supervisors to take Max to the clinic. He nodded towards Kirk & Spock to leave, and in a low voice asked Dr Wolly to bring Peter to his office afterwards. The two men stepped back and left. They were feeling for the orphan but they had also come to feel respect for the teenager who stood for his friend, and on top of that nearly took them both.

Kyle did not know how to act. The other children were equally uneasy. They all shared Peter's pain and then, they were yet to learn how one comforts one's sorrow. The orphans quietly dispersed.

In a while Peter calmed. He was still sobbing when he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. He looked up. Dr Wolly was caressing his back.

'Feeling better?'

'D-did I h-hurt him?'

She shrugged. 'I saw him walking so I reckon he'll be all right.' She did not want to reproach him for his outburst yet. The fact that Peter enquired after Max meant that he knew what he had done. Odds were good that this could have been only a momentum. Besides, the little rascal was asking for it.

'I am s-sorry!' Peter was genuinely worried. 'I di… I…' He was looking around frantically, as if only now he became aware tha he was in a new, completely new and strange place, far from the ruins of his temple.

'It's OK, Peter, we are here for you. _I _am here for you!'

Peter forced a smile and nervously wiped his tears. His face was red and puffy. The sun was gone, the children too. Tiny drops started falling from the sky.

'We should go inside now.'

'I guess the principal is waiting for me.'

'Afraid so.'

Peter shrugged. 'Oh, well, things can't get worse anyway.' Even though he was sombre and calm, Anne Wolly finally could see some life in his eyes.

Without further ado Peter stood up and headed inside, slowly advancing towards Mr Bine's office. The psychologist was observing him with interest. The boy showed understanding of life which most people do not find before they are in their 20s. He had let his pain out and seemingly had gone through the most difficult part. She dearly hoped he had.

'Come in.'

The door opened and a bald head showed up.

'Come on in, Peter. Sit.'

The boy entered. He was moving like a wild animal in an unknown territory. It took Mr Bine exactly three seconds to feel the change. Peter had confident air and his eyes were moving around, spotting every detail. His face was good enough for a game of poker but it was definitely not the same still, apathetic image from before.

'How are you feeling?'

'Never better.'

The principal settled in his chair and fixated his eyes on the orphan. The right edge of his mouth lifted and formed a half-smile.

'You've got nerve, kid, I grant you that.'

'Kids in my place need nerve; …tons of it.'

For a moment Bine felt again like he was talking to an adult. His expression stiffened.

'Now that you are better, perhaps we can discuss the events from earlier today?'

'Look, principal, I'm sorry…'

'Do you realize what you could have done?'

'I do. I lost control.'

'The doctor said that had it not been for his size and body mass, Max would have been in intensive care now!'

'I'm really sorry, OK? … And anyway, he was asking for it.' The last part Peter uttered with unconcealed passion.

'Was he? Because he was teasing Kyle? And the supervisors, they were asking for it, too?' The principal wanted to check just how deep he could poke before the tiger leaves its den. And again he found himself totally unprepared for Peter's reaction.

The boy hit his fist on the side of the chair and spoke with loud, firm voice.

'Injustice has to be punished!' There was a certain glow in the orphan's eyes. 'It was not fair! Max is much bigger and stronger than the other kids. He crossed the line and he got what he deserved!'

Bine passed hand bellow his chin.

'Those who do wrong have to be punished...' Peter looked down as he said that. The conversation stopped being about Max few seconds ago.

'Tell me about your home, Peter.'

The question came right from the left field for the teenager.

'H-home? I don't have a home.'

'All right, tell me about the place that you used to call home.'

Peter shrugged. 'It was… a temple. Noting special.' Peter frowned and looked outside.

The principal did not expect to hear the boy's life story but he definitely did not want him to wrap himself in that impassable wall again. He hoped the kid would open up and learn to speak of his pain freely.

'What did you do there?'

At that moment Peter's instincts were highly alert. He was still looking down to his hands and as he moved his head back up, he noticed: the papers in front of the principal, the hand writing on them, the open pen next to the papers, the phone lying at a comfortable distance to the right of him, outside a small phone-shaped ring of dust. The whole thing took just a moment.

'Why do you ask me if you've already checked me up?'

Bine moved unnerved. He was aware of the treacherous signs lying around but he certainly did not expect that a twelve-year old would spot them, too.

'Because I want to hear it from you... Sherlock.'

Peter sighed. The faster he answered the sooner it would be over.

'We studied, and trained, and taught…'

'What did you train?'

'Kung-fu', snapped the boy. The tone of his voice suggested that he had no intention of explaining what that was.

'I see', smiled Bine. 'How long have you been training… kung-fu?'

Peter shrugged again. 'Since… since I can remember…'

'It showed.' The boy did not expect such an answer. 'That window behind you?.. I saw everything. The little brat _was_ asking for it. And you looked like a little Bruce Lee over there…'

Peter grunted. 'Bruce Lee is an amateur.'

'Hey, you know better. But look, son…'

'DO NOT CALL ME THAT!' Peter rose abruptly as he shouted with a hoarse voice, and looked at Bine threatening, nearly wild again. The principal had been walking on thin ice and it just got a crack.

'Please, forgive me!' The man spoke in a low tone and very gently. 'I am sorry, Peter! Please, sit, and again, accept my apology!'

Peter relaxed and went back to his seat. Bine took a deep breath before he continued.

'What I was trying to say was that you obviously have some really special skills in store, kid, but they can be quite devastating.'

'I know. I lost it. I'm sorry. And about Kirk & Spock, I didn't mean…'

'Kirk & Spock?.. Ah, you mean _Albert_ and _Harry_, the supervisors.'

'Whatever.'

'Tell me, the monks in your temple… what did they use those fighting skills for?'

'To help.'

'Help who?'

'Those who need to be helped; the week, the vulnerable…'

'Like Kyle…'

'Yeah.'

'That's a good cause, especially if it makes the guilty get what they deserve. … Don't be surprised, Peter, I've been fighting for justice for thirteen years before coming here.'

'You were a cop?'

'Heh, nothing so exciting, I was a lawyer. Then I thought it's probably more worth trying to prevent crime in its infancy, so I took the job in Pineridge.'

'You're kinda failing with Max…'

'I haven't given up on him yet. And, speaking of which, we have to come up with a proper punishment for you.'

'Oh, well... Guess I deserve it...' Then Peter added aggressively: 'Though not as much as Max!'

'Let _me_ worry about him, OK? Now, I'll have to move you to the single room, just for a while. You will spend the rest of the weekend without leaving it. Your meals will be brought to you, cold. And from Monday you'll be giving shifts at the kitchen after classes. Let's see what old Mr Show can find for you.'

Peter grunted. 'Whatever.'

The principal did not want to argue any longer. 'You can go now. And Peter, try not to allow this to happen again, please.'

'I'll do my best.' Peter went to the door and before opening it he turned abruptly: 'But if I see Max, or anyone, pestering some of the younger kids, I won't be responsible for the consequences.'

Mr Bine nodded in silent agreement. He then nearly panicked when he saw that at the doorway Peter almost bumped into Max. However the most extraordinary thing happened. The tall massive teenager stared at Peter for a moment, stepped back, and made way for the new boy to pass. Peter acted like Max was obliged to do so and walked away with his head high up. The door shut behind him.

Peter did not mind spending the weekend in isolation. What he did mind was missing an episode of 'Hill Street Blues', his new favourite show. He took his book and went up to the room. In the corridor Dr Wolly was waiting for him.

'How did it go?'

'All right, I guess.'

'What's the sentence?'

'Grounded for the weekend and then shifts in the kitchen.'

'Oh, my, Mr Bine has mellowed with the age.'

Both of them smiled. Peter tried to enter the room but the psychiatrist stood in his way.

'You made great progress today, Peter.'

'By embarrassing myself in front of everybody?'

'By talking about your pain. I've been doing this long enough and I know that the sooner you start talking, the sooner you will accept.'

'I don't think I can ever _accept_.'

'OK, I didn't express myself clear: the sooner you will learn to live with it.'

They shared a look and Peter bowed his head.

'How can I learn? I don't know what to do. What happens now? I've lost my… way.'

The orphan's eyes swelled with tears. Dr Anne patted him.

'I'm here for you, kid. I'll show you. You see that door over there? That's my own den. Any time you need to talk, or just need some company, I'll be here.'

'Thought I was grounded.'

The woman laughed. 'You are, but your little isolation doesn't include stubborn counselors who want to pick your head.'

Peter laughed. He liked Dr Wolly. She made him feel well, normal. She was treating him like an equal.

The boy hid in his room. He was trying not to get too comfortable there as sooner or later they would move him with the others. Carelessly he threw the book on the writing desk and lied on the bed. He put hands bellow his head and stared at the ceiling.

Peter still had not had time to reflect on what happened in the morning. Nevertheless he felt light; a heavy burden he did not know he carried had been removed. The orphan could hear voices of children walking down the corridor. They had learned how to live with it. They had friends while he was alone. In this room, or in a dormitory, no matter, he would always be alone. He wiped the emerging tears and curled up to one side. He hugged the pillow and tried with all his power to suppress the cry that had stuck in his throat like a ball.

Peter Caine was never to see his father again. To him his mother has always been a ghost whose ethereal presence he had accepted long time ago. But his father… Only weeks ago they were walking together in the yard. The older Caine was constantly busy handling the affairs of the temple, teaching or training, but he would somehow always manage to snug a few precious minutes for his son.

For Peter Kwai Chang Caine was the strongest man in the world. The boy worshipped him. He could spend hours observing his father training, dreaming of nothing else but to be like him when he grows up. And now, that larger than life man had been claimed by a raging fire, never to come out alive again. All his skills, all his knowledge had not been enough to save him.

So far Peter had never doubted that the way of the Shaolin was to be _his_ way one day, but now? He had nothing, no way.

'Father...' Peter was cradling in the bed. 'Father...' He kept repeating the word so sacred to him feeling that if he did it long enough some answer would appear out from the nothing.

Peter opened eyes. Had he fallen asleep? He looked around. The temple! He was in the temple! All of this was a nightmare; he had not lost his father.

Then he smelled the smoke. Flames were crawling on the walls, quickly covering the axes of the ceiling. Peter saw a young student lying unconscious on the floor and tried to help him. Just then something heavy fell on him; he felt dizzy. Then he heard an explosion; there was a hole in the wall. And his father!

'Father!' The man saw Peter but then turned his back and disappeared. The boy tried to crawl but soon gave up.

Peter could hear distant voices. Smell of smoke was still filling the air. His instincts were screaming at him to open eyes and get up, and he suddenly jumped. He took a deep breath and shouted 'Father', then he saw the fire.

The scared boy got up and looked around. A building was burning metres away from him, but this was no longer the temple. There were police cars and fire engines, Peter found himself standing right next to one of them. It was dark, he was in a strange place, in an unknown city, where all signs were written in Chinese. It was all the same to him, his father was gone; the fire had devoured him.

Peter was staring at the burning building and then he noticed a silhouette. Like a phoenix rising from the ashes a tall man came out of the fire. Untouched by the flames, he was carrying another, older man, like he was a little child. Peter's eyes opened wide, he knew him.

'Father! Father!'

The boy ran. He saw how the tall man put the older one on a litter and caressed his forehead. He looked different; he had long silver hear and his face was sooty, but Peter still recognised him; that was his father.

'Father, it's me, Peter!'

But he would not hear. Then the man lost his balance and powerless fell to his knees. Peter ran to him and hugged him.

'Father, father, get up!' He turned and shouted: 'This is my father, help him! Father, don't leave me! I love you, don't leave me!'

Two firemen came and simply walked through Peter. Nobody noticed he was there, not even his father. They put the man on another litter. The boy ran after them screaming desperately.

'Father, wait, don't leave me! Father….'

'Father!'

Peter stood in his bed. He was breathing fast, sweating and trembling. He was back in the orphanage, it was still daylight and he was in his room. The he heard a knock, the door opened.

'Peter?' Dr Wolly came in anxious. 'Are you OK?'

The orphan looked at her. 'My father left me.'

The psychiatrist sat on the edge of the bed and hugged him.

'My father left me…' He relaxed head on the woman's shoulder and started crying. Peter had gathered so much sorrow that in the end he had to get rid of it in some way. He finally had to face the horrible truth that his father, the only family he ever knew, was gone forever.

The rest of the weekend passed quickly. Peter had relaxed completely. He could finally pay some attention to his homework, too. The orphanage was his home now. The orphan had no path, only mist around him. He had to learn how to live anew, alone.

Back in the classroom Peter was glad to see Kyle again. In the break he also discovered that everyone was kind to him, and he had gained a new fan, a nine-year old boy called Benjamin.

Ben was following Peter like a puppy, assuming for some reason that whatever he was afraid of, the strong boy with the shaved head would be able to protect him. At first Peter thought it was cute but then he got pretty annoyed when the little one would not leave him even when he wanted to speak with other boys his age.

'Hey, Pete', Kyle approached, 'how are you?' He sounded much livelier and confident than two days ago.

'I'm cool. You OK?'

'Totally.' The boy showed off his sketch pad.

'Why is everyone so weird?' Peter realized that whoever passed next to him was staring.

'You're the town's hero, Peter. Everybody wants to be your friend now.'

'Why, so that I can defend them from Max?'

'Mm, don't know. We haven't seen a lot from him lately and even his palls are unusually quiet.'

Jim and Angus were walking together down the hall when they noticed Peter and Kyle. Then casually they simply changed their way and took the far side, as far from the new kid as possible.

'They're afraid of you, man.'

'Good.' Peter looked after them severely.

The next two days Peter was busy only with lessons and working in the kitchen. His duties there were to last for a week. Max had not been so lucky. He was helping the cleaners with the bathrooms and toilets and that was going to last for a month. Peter did not care if he would meet Max or not, but the older boy was apparently avoiding the newcomer. Even in the common room his presence was barely felt.

On Wednesday afternoon Peter was released from work at about 3 pm. The day was cloudy but unusually warm and he feared he would have to spend all of it indoors. Finally he was free and immediately ran to his secret place.

There, by the pond, Peter was feeling calm and centred. He sat and took a photo out of his inner pocket; it was the only picture he had of his mother. She was young and remarkably beautiful; dressed in white, with a yellow flower in her red hair. His father had told him that the picture was been taken on the day of their wedding. The orphan kissed the image and caressed it.

A few minutes later Peter heard some noise behind him. He was about to turn when a hand came from behind and snatched the photo. Peter jumped and saw Max. Angus and Jim were slowly approaching, too.

'You want it? Come and get it!'

Peter's eyes got that wild look again. 'Touch… that picture… and I… will kill you!' He did not say it; he hissed, very slowly and in a loud voice, aiming to make sure that Max would take his words seriously.

The bully did. Still feeling numb pain in the chest any time he took a breath, Max had all the reasons to believe that the bald kid was not joking in his threat.

'Get him.' Max made a sign to the other two boys and stepped back.

This time Peter remained cool headed. He was fixated on the tall boy that was holding the photo of his mother; there was no time to waste with the other two. Angus approached to the right and Peter hit him in the teeth. Jim was greeted with a punch in the nose. Peter's fists were much faster than the boys' reactions. They gave up quickly, leaving Max to handle the twelve-year old orphan alone.

At about 3pm on Wednesday principal Bine was checking on his kids. He wanted specifically to see how Peter was doing but the boy was nowhere to be seen. Then he saw the cleaner, Mrs Porter. Max was not with her. A bad feeling arose in the man's heart. Suddenly a twelve-year old girl, Jessica, ran to Mr Bine and told him that she saw Peter heading for the pond, and then Max and his gang had been seen going here, too.

Bine was panicking. All sorts of scenarios were playing in his mind. Running through the hall he made sign to Kirk & Spock to follow him and together they hurried to the far side of the back yard. As soon as they came closer they were welcomed by a most unusual sight.

Peter had approached Max the way the tiger approaches its trapped victim. Max had stopped and threatened to tear the photo apart. Then it occurred to Peter that his father did not like to use fists to resolve a problem; he would talk. So did he.

'Why are you doing this? Why do you want to fight me if you know that I can destroy you?'

'That's the only way I know', snapped Max.

'Who told you that?'

'Learned it form my father. The stronger beats the weaker. It's the only thing the damned bastard ever gave me.'

'And my father taught me that there's always another way.'

'You know nothing.'

'I don't want to fight you, Max. I've done you nothing wrong, nor has any of the other kids.'

'They have... They… they have friends, and stuff, and they play… They have things I don't.' He waved his fist.

'And you think you can go bully them?'

'I'm the stronger one!'

'So, you're saying that _I_ can start bullying _you_? You got it!'

Peter put hands on his hips and made another step forward. Max trembled.

'I want my photo back. And I want to stop bothering with you. My life sucks enough as it is.'

'Well, mine's not better, either.'

'I know that.' At that moment Peter noticed the approaching men. They came behind Max so he did not realize they were watching. Peter continued. 'You're not an orphan, are you?'

Max glanced at the photo in his hands. 'Is that your mom?'

'Yeah.'

'She's hot, man.'

Peter smiled. He wanted to believe that Max was not as bad as he seemed and now, for the first time, he could actually see that.

'Is she dead?'

'She died when I've been very young, I don't remember her.'

Max looked at the photo, then at Peter, then at the photo again. 'You look like her... like, a lot.'

Peter smiled with certain sadness in his eyes. 'My dad used to say that all the time.'

'Has your dad ever hit you?'

'Of course not!'

'He hit others, right?' Max grinned.

'Only if they asked for it.'

'He taught you to fight like that?'

'Yes.'

'He must be able to put Bruce Lee on his back…'

'He was the best, man.'

The boys looked at each other and smiled. The principal did not believe his eyes, or his ears. He saw how Max stretched hand and gave Peter whatever he was holding in it.

'My old man was a junkie. He was dealing drugs and turned my mom into a junkie, too. Then the Socials came and told her she was unfit to look after me. I haven't seen her for five years.'

'But at least she's alive!' It was like the tall boy had not considered that fact before. 'When you get out, you might be able to find her, be with her again. I'll never be with my mom again. At least you've got hope.'

Max grunted. 'Hope? There's no hope where I come from.'

'Well, you're on your own now; you can do whatever you want.' Having said that Peter took a few steps intending to leave.

'Hold on! What you're talking about? I've got nothing, man, you get it?'

'You have friends…' Peter paused. '…You _could_ have friends.'

'Nobody wants to be my friend.'

'And whose fault is that?'

Max looked down. He was nervous. He had kept his heart locked behind walls of aggression, making sure that nobody will get in there and break it again, and now some insignificant twelve-year old was reading straight into his soul with the same ease he had laced him five days ago.

'The way of the fist, punk, that's what I know. That's the only way you don't get hurt.'

'By hurting others….'

'That's none of your god-damned business.' Max shouted and the men behind him thought he would turn to physical power again. But he did not.

'Max…' Peter felt he had entered into deep waters. He had tried to do what his father would but he had not the slightest idea how to take it from here. 'Look…uhm… your dad… your dad, did he hurt you?'

'I'll make sure he never hurts me again.'

'And how did you feel when he did hurt you?'

Max was nervous, sweating. 'W-what d'you think you are, a freakin' shrink?'

'Do you hate him? Your old man, do you hate him?' Peter pretended he had not heard Max's outburst. He seized an opportunity to go out of the whirlpool he had created before both he and Max drowned in it.

'Yes!'

'You want to be like him?'

'NO!' Max seemed disgusted with the idea.

'So, let me see.' Peter came closer to Max and the bully instinctively stepped back at the thought of what the bald one could do to him. 'You pester the weak, you torment the different, and you hit if they don't listen. Well, Max, you're good, man, you're obviously nothing like your father _at all_.'

Peter gave him a scornful look and left. Max turned and at last noticed the three men standing behind him.

'OK, hold on you two!' Albert, widely popular as Kirk, went to the other two boys who were just planning to sneak out.

'Al, take them to the clinic, then I want them in my office.' The principal took the situation in his hands. Someone had to lift the burden off Peter's shoulders.

'And as for you two…'

Peter thought he was free to leave; after all he had not done anything wrong. The principal hugged the boy with one hand, making him understand he was not to go just yet. Then Max interrupted whatever Bine wanted to say and did what nobody, even Peter, thought he was capable of doing.

'Principal, Peter did nothing wrong.' It was enough that he actually knew Peter's name. 'I… I called Angus and Jim… We… were going to corner him, beat 'im up.'

'Judging from their bleeding faces I reckon things did not go as planned?' Bine had no intention of blaming it on Peter but he preferred to keep things unclear for the moment, odds on something interesting pops up on the surface.

'I…uhm... I l-let them go alone, I chickened.'

'Now, I can understand that, Max. I would, too.' He squeezed Peter lightly, as if to emphasize that he was talking about the new kid, also to remind him not to try and walk on him.

'Look, just punish _me_, OK? I'll clean the loos or whatever you want me to do, it was my fault.'

'Why did you do it, Max? What did you think you'd achieve?'

Max shrugged. 'Revenge, I thought, but it didn't feel as good as I thought it would.' The principal did not say anything. He wanted to give him a chance to say something more. In this trial Max was both defendant and defense.

'I only want to go, sit and watch TV, and not bother with anyone, or be bothered. But they'll mock me, I know it.'

Here Peter spoke. 'No one will mock you, Max. They're too scared of you. …But if you let them get to know you, maybe they'll see that you can be pretty cool actually.'

Both Mr Bine and Max gave Peter a questioning look.

'You think I'm cool?'

'Ehm, I guess… It's OK talking to you…'

'In my world they start thinking of me as cool only after I let them kiss my fist.' He chuckled. 'Now you think I'm cool after I kissed yours.' Everyone burst out laughing.

The principal laughed with all his heart. He had never seen Max like this; all these years the bully had not allowed anyone close to him. Bine was relieved.

'I didn't mean to hurt Jim and Angus.' Peter looked at the principal begging to be spared this time.

'I know; it was self-defense.' Mr Bine winked at him and let him go. 'Max, you'll finish your sentence, boy, no getting out of this.'

Max shrugged. Bine made him sign to join the group. It had become dark and pretty cold; the lights of the building behind them were blinking temptingly.

When they were about to enter Peter asked Max: 'Hey, you want to do something, watch TV or anything?'

'I saw you play basketball.'

'Yeah.'

'I bet I can kick your butt.' Max winked and Peter chuckled.

'We'll see that.'

They decided to meet for a game at the small gym in ten minutes. Max disappeared quickly but the principal held Peter behind. He wanted to shake the boy's hand.

'Peter, I have never been more proud of anyone in my entire life!'

Peter blushed. 'I… d-did what my father would have done…'

'Well, you did the right thing. You've got something in you, kid; you have the power to change people.'

'No, I don't.' Peter felt uneasy.

The principal smiled. He was getting too deep, even for the mature mind of the twelve-year old Peter Caine.

'All right, go now, get out of here.'

Mr. Bine looked after the orphan who was impatient to change and go play basketball. The former lawyer already knew he had an exceptional child in his care and he hoped, from the bottom of his heart, that somebody else would come to understand that, too, and give the boy a head-start in what was promising to be an extraordinary life.

Thursday morning was busy and probably the liveliest day of the week in Pineridge. Some of the kids were in the class rooms; others were amidst phys. ed. class in the big gym. Few of them were gathered in the small living room where some man was giving a talk. Few social workers were hanging around, too.

The principal was always present at those talks. At the end of the day the programme with calling established professionals to talk about their work to the orphans was all his idea. And it was failing beautifully. An officer approached Mr Bine who had taken a seat at the back of the room.

'Mr Bine, you need police assistance, I hear.'

'Nothing so serious, Brodercik.'

The two men smiled and shook hands.

'So, things here are going well, I see. How's my new friend doing?'

The principal got visibly annoyed. 'You know, he has a name; it's Peter', said he aggressively.

'All right, all right, man, don't go medieval on me. Peter it is.'

'Sorry; it's just that this boy has been through so much...'

'They all have, Bine.'

'Yes, of course. I guess this one… he touched something…'

'You're getting old, Andrew, you know that?'

'Well, maybe I'm not the shark I used to be ten years ago but I still hold the front line. Speaking of which, I was meaning to ask you a little favour.'

'Sure, who do you want me to cuff? It's Resnoff, isn't it? The little rascal will end up like his old man…'

'No, no, the kids are fine. It's _this_.'

The principal pointed at the room. About ten kids were sitting, obviously bored, listening to Dr David Hanemann, professor in Archaeology from the University of Sloanville.

'Aha, I see. Let me guess: all those children have insomnia and you've brought the geek to cure it? I think it's working.'

The principal massaged his forehead and sighed.

'He's an archaeologist. Thought they might get interested if I brought…'

'…Allan Quatermain?'

'K-kind of... I've had teachers, Broderick, artists, even a politician. I just want to show those orphans how many options they have, to inspire them…'

'It's a good cause, principal; it's fine…'

'Perhaps I need to spice things up a little, don't you think?'

'Well…' The officer was trying to be polite but yes, Bine definitely needed to liven up the atmosphere.

'I spoke to a chief from the fire brigade. I could set him as a regular for a few months, starting December.'

'Perhaps a fire fighter would be _a little _bitmore interesting than a book worm, yeah; and, I'm flattered you're so kindly asking my opinion…'

The director smiled wryly. There was nothing wrong with book worms.

'You said they were moving you to a new precinct, right?'

'Yes, 101st. Not my delight but hey, if it's by personal request from Captain Blaisdell himself, who am I to say _no_?'

'What, Blaisdell? Paul Blaisdell?'

'Yes.'

'I'll be damned… Ha!'

The principal was pleasantly surprised. He had meant to ask Broderick's assistance to set him a meeting with some of his new colleagues, should they agree to come to the orphanage and talk about police work. He had not expected to bump into an old friend, least of all Paul Blaisdell.

'Why, do you know him?'

'As a lawyer I put behind bars some pretty big fish, all hand delivered by Blaisdell.'

'Hey, the man is a legend.' Broderick lowered his voice. 'Nobody really knows his background but since he took over 101st two years ago, the squad doesn't come off the headlines.'

'He's quite something, isn't he?'

'He picks nothing but the best for his team. You can understand my excitement, even if I'm not the biggest fan of Chinese food.'

'Over the years I lost track of Blaisdell and it's a wonderful coincidence that you should be transferred to his precinct. Look, Broderick, when you get there, could you tell your new Captain that Andrew Bine sends his regards?'

'Well, I guess… But it may take some time. Why, what's on your mind?'

'I was meaning to get some detective to come over for a visit but I know Blaisdell, he's a decent man; and I also know that in a child's eyes police captains are way more intriguing than simple detectives…'

'I get you. Sure, principal, I'll see what I can do. I've got your card here so we'll set something up, right?'

'Yes, please, it would mean a lot to me… and to them.'

'But it can take a while; I'm not going there before February…'

'It's OK, I'm good. The kids won't run away. Take your time.'

Andrew Bine was more than happy to get back in touch with Paul Blaisdell. His intuition was telling him that the captain would gladly do this for the orphanage. Bine could barely wait for the winter.

By the end of that week Peter was transferred to one of the main dormitories. The principal took the chance to put him together with Max, and the worst that came from this experiment was a bunch of annoyed children, regularly disturbed by the late-night chats and giggling of the two boys.

Max had remained reserved, though better behaved, towards the other orphans. To Peter, however, he was an open book; or at least he thought he was. For the first time in his short life he started sharing about his dreams and fears, about his nightmares. He even started remembering his mother, the only human being that had ever been kind to him.

On the Sunday evening, a week after their fight, Peter and Max were using the last minutes before the lights went off to talk about the latest episode of 'Hill Street Blues'.

'Man, those guys are so cool', said Peter with dreamy eyes.

'How come that on TV cops always win?' Max found it hard to share the sentiments.

Peter understood. 'Not all cops are bad, Max.'

'Well, to me they're always gonna be the freaks that…' The boy paused abruptly.

'…That took your mother away from you?'

'She hadn't done anything wrong, Pete. It was my ol' man they were after. They thought she knew where he was; and we hadn't heard from him in a month. I remember it like it was yesterday'

Max was becoming emotional and Peter tried to change the subject.

'It's OK, Max', he gently pushed his arm, 'It's over now.'

'Yeah…'

'Hey, you on my team for tomorrow's game?'

'Get out of here, punk, I don't play with twelve-year olds.' They laughed at the memory from the first days of their acquaintance. They seemed almost like from another life. To Peter it somehow was another life because at that point he had still not _accepted_. Now he was learning.

'And I'll be 13 in two weeks, remember?'

'Ha, old man…' They giggled. Then Max continued.

'Yo, I… I was meaning to ask you something.'

'Shoot.'

'Those moves you got are pretty neat.'

'Yeah, I guess.'

'Well, perhaps you could teach me... s-something?' Max looked Peter insecure; his face had an almost innocent expression.

'Ha, look at him.' They smiled again. 'Well, to tell you the truth, I don't think I'll be using much kung-fu in the future.'

This time it was Max's turn to read Peter's mind. 'Because of your father?'

'Yeah.' Peter looked around. The others were preparing for bed, engaged in lively conversations about TV shows and who in Pineridge fancied who.

'Sorry, man, I didn't mean to…'

'That's OK. Just… You see, my father was… my hero. He was wise, and strong, and good… All my life, until… few months ago, I knew I wanted to be like him, to be a priest. And now…' He looked down. 'You get me?'

'Think so.'

'I always knew I'd be a Shaolin priest, help people and teach, like my father did. Everything I've learned I learned from him. And now that he's not here anymore I've got nobody to learn from.'

'You need a model… No, wait, how was it… a _role model_.'

Peter grinned. 'Who's the shrink now?'

'No, wait, Dr Anne said that some time ago; that we need role models. You know, people to copy and to wanna be like.'

'Like I wanted to be like my father?'

'Yeah.'

'Guess I'll have to find a new… role model.' The boy imitated Max and chuckled.

'Or a new father?'

Peter looked horrified at Max.

'No way!' He said that in a loud voice and for a moment silence fell over the room. When the kids got convinced that Max and Peter won't end up fighting again, they went on with their gossips.

'No way, man; there can never be another father, ever!'

'Don't you wanna find a new home? Somebody might take you in.'

'Why should they?'

'Don't know; there are people who do that. And if there's a reason why I'm trying to be decent, other than you beating the hell out of me, is to try and get out of here, find a place...permanently'

'How is it?'

'You know, they'll send you to normal school, buy Christmas presents, stuff like that. Life's better on the outside.'

'I've never been on the outside really. I was at the temple my whole life.'

'Hey, you never know.'

'But I shouldn't raise my expectations too high, right?'

'No, the truth is most of us never get adopted, or even fostered. But you're a nice kid, Pete, you should find a place.'

'I should?'

'If there's any good out there', now Max really sounded like a young adult, 'or any _justice_, as you call it, you have to get a place; you deserve it.'

'And you should get back with your mom…'

'I don't know. Do you think I deserve it?'

'Everybody does.'

At the moment John Hill, a young supervisor doing an internship at Pineridge, came to turn the lights off.

'OK, everybody, that was it for today, everyone in bed!'

The kids had just thirty seconds to go to their places before the lights went off. The supervisor stayed another minute to make sure everything was in order, and then left. It got quiet. The only light was coming from the lamp in the yard outside; it entered the room through the tall windows. The shadows of their bars were taking shape on the floor and some of the beds. Then the shadows began dancing as the light was blurred by the sudden heavy rain.

It was about five o'clock in the afternoon. In the warm summer evening the temple was basking in the beams of the setting sun. Peter was in the main room, practicing with the help of young Master Kahn the weapon form he had learned a week ago. Another master then called the other junior students for a group practice. Peter joined the group but only minutes later the lesson was interrupted.

Many men with bandannas around the faces rushed into the hall. Peter stepped back anxiously and then he sensed a presence. He turned and at the mezzanine he saw a tall man standing, dressed in black vest and dark-blue shirt, with long silver hair. But… that was his father! Peter was ready to shout at him when master Laury quickly made him a sign to go upstairs where was safe. Peter obeyed and on his way up he saw his father jumping from the high balcony straight down to the main hall.

The boy was running; his heart was going to burst. He heard a female voice shouting 'Caine, be careful!' On the balcony he found a pretty blond woman in her 40s, only slightly taller than himself. When Peter approached her she welcomed him with a soft smile, like she already knew him.

'That's my father down there.' He was proud. 'Don't worry, he's the best!'

'Oh, I know that. … I'm Karen.' She stretched her hand, her smile broadened.

'Hi, I'm Peter. Are you going to stay for long?'

'I don't know, Peter.'

Then the two observed the fight for a while but then Karen left the mezzanine and ran downstairs. Even though he was convinced in his father's skills, Peter was always anxious when he was seeing him fighting enemies. And those men were strange, they each had a tear-like tattoos right below the right eye. Peter remained up until the fight was over. He admired his father's sleek moves, his devastating strikes. At that moment the boy wanted more than anything to be like his father, his hero.

When the men were defeated Karen hugged Caine, and Peter, impatient to go and hug his father, too, heard how the other masters thanked Caine for his early arrival back from his trip. His father was introducing the beautiful stranger to them.

'This is Karen. She will be staying with us for a while.'

Peter, joined by his best friend Dennis, approached. 'For how long?'

'I do not know', said Caine.

'That's what she told me.'

'I see you have already met my son, Peter.'

'Yes, I have', said Karen. 'I think we'll get along just… fine.'

'…Eventually…' added Caine with a plotting grin.

Peter's father obviously knew the woman from before; and even she appeared to know Peter. The boy was wondering why he had never met her or heard about her.

Dennis asked indiscreetly: 'Who's the babe with your old man?'

'She's just a friend.' Peter was jealous. He did not like the idea of his father and _another_ woman, under any circumstances.

Caine introduced the other masters to Karen and Peter found it amusing how she thought Ping Hi seemed 'ancient'. He laughed at himself. 'He's ancient, all right.'

Peter could not wait to get to know the strange woman, and offered to show her around. He was surprised how readily she accepted his offer, as if equally willing to get to know him.

As they walked away Peter suddenly found himself in the yard, looking at his father who appeared to be talking to the air. The old Shaolin approached his son and said that he was thinking about the future and the past. The boy tingled.

'…The paths that you and I have taken; that we will take…'

'When will we take those new paths?'

'Soon.' They walked some time and Caine asked: 'Have you given some thought as to what will be yours?'

'You mean when I'm older; whether I'll be a monk or a teacher?'

Caine chuckled. '…Or a cop?'

'You mean like Starsky & Hutch?' Peter felt invigorated. 'Those dudes are cool. That would be a bad kick!'

'A bad kick…' Caine paused. 'How did you find out about Starsky & Hutch?

'Uhm.., Mike Laury took us to town once. There was a TV…'

'I see.'

'Am I in trouble?'

'No.' Caine gently slapped his son on the back of the head.

'These new paths, are we going to walk them together?'

'One day, one day we will. But tonight I need _you_ to help me.'

'With what?' Peter felt proud that his father should ask _him_ for help.

'I need you to gather some things outside these walls.'

'What things?'

'Some herbs, some very special herbs.'

'Anything, father!'

Then Peter saw himself outside the temple gathering from the herbs that were surrounding the walls. There was so much of them that he had never thought of them as anything special.

Then again, as if time was playing tricks with him, Peter skipped another moment and found himself by the koi pond at the temple yard. He was sitting there, at the edge, in his father's company, with Karen overlooking them from afar.

'Why?' Peter was scared. 'Why can't you change that; why can't you stay?'

Caine sighed. 'I cannot change what must be. We will go through great hardships. But one thing you must believe, one day we will be together.'

'Promise?'

'I promise!' Caine nodded and looked his son lovingly. 'Now go to bed.'

Peter got up and hugged his father. Caine hugged his son so strong, like he was not to see him again. The priest held gently the boy at the back of the head.

'I love you, my son!'

'I love you, father!'

Peter prepared to leave, feeling heaviness in his stomach.

Then he turned. 'When will I see you next?'

'Tomorrow, when I return from my trip.'

Peter bowed respectfully and went to take his leave from his new friend.

'Will I ever see you again?'

'You will', answered Karen. She looked like she was hiding a secret that only Peter did not know.

The young Caine headed towards his room. He walked slowly, looking at the floor, trying to make sense of everything that had happened that evening. Suddenly he heard sound from rain. Tiny drops were knocking on the roof and on the windows. The boy felt like they were following him, getting heavier the more he approached his room. His breathing fastened, he got frightened. He turned, feeling that something was behind his back, but the hall was empty. He started running and then he slipped, fell, hurt himself…

…Peter woke up with a quiet sigh. He sat in his bed, breathing heavily, sweating. Heavy rain drops were knocking on the barred window. He looked around. The room was still; the other kids were asleep.

'It was a dream!'

The twelve-year old boy sat in the bed; then he got up and went barefoot to the window. Peter leaned on the frame and touched the glass. He stared with heavy heart at the empty back yard.

'The same dream, from the temple…' Then why did he feel warmth on the back of his head, like his father had just touched him there.

'Where are you, father?' The boy missed his father so much that it hurt.

He thought of the dream. The strange woman, the monks, his father… In his dream Kwai Chang Caine looked older, with hair. Peter had never seen his father with hair, in his entire life. Then why did he dream him looking like this? Older, too, much older than… than when he died.

A tear fell down his cheek. On a stormy night Caine would always go and check on his son, even when he no longer had nightmares of shadows and dragons under his bed. Peter felt like his father had come to check on him that night, too.

In the dream Caine was speaking of hardships and separate ways; and that they would be together again someday. A quiet voice deep inside Peter's heart whispered that it was not over, not just yet. He smiled.

'I love you, father!'

Then Peter looked at the dark dormitory behind him. He laughed quietly at a thought he had never had before.

'A cop?!'

Peter startled. He sat in his bed breathing fast, sweat covering his forehead. He looked around. The room was dark, still. He hated waking up alone after a nightmare. Though, this had not been exactly a nightmare…

He got up and went to the window which was being washed by heavy rain. It started raining shortly after Peter got back, and perhaps it would continue raining also the next day. He leaned on the window frame and touched the glass.

'Where are you, father?'

Peter looked at the time, almost five o'clock. This was probably all the sleep he would get that night so he walked around the room, rethinking the dream.

That dream! The same one, from the temple… It was the third time he had had it that week. The faces had been gone by then, all that was left were unidentified ghostly bodies; the monks, the strange woman, the villains… Only his father's face was still vivid and clear, almost tangible.

Peter touched the back of his head; it felt like someone's hand had just held him there.

His father's strong, tender hand…

And why, on earth, did he have hair?! Peter could have never imagined his father with hair; he had known him with shaved head all his life. Yet he kept dreaming him with silver hair, reaching just above his arms. And he looked older, too, and slimmer, and so sad also.

Peter sighed. He was restless; he had been like that this whole week. A heavy ball had stuck in his stomach, and up his throat. He was feeling overwhelmed, but why? The week had not been out of his usual routine. Peter could feel how some strange excitement was steadily taking hold of him. It was one of those feelings he had when he knew something was going to happen and he could not wait for it. But now he did not wait for anything to happen. The thought frightened him. He felt he was not in control of the situation, and that feeling had always annoyed him.

Peter reached for a glass of water and saw his hand trembling.

'I'm losing it…'

He emptied the cold water in his throat and went back to the window. He could hear the sound from the earliest busses' engines. One or two cars passed. Peter tried to find rational explanation for this bordering with fear excitement.

He tried to concentrate on the possible consequences of the latest trouble he had messed himself into but that voice would not leave him alone.

'_The paths that we will take…_'

Peter tried to recall the past 12 hours.

_'… great hardships…_'

Then Peter thought of the three men, or at least tried to.

_'…we will be together…_'

Then he massaged his bruised shoulder.

_'…together…'_ Peter closed eyes, tried to numb the voice which was getting louder. _'…together…one day…_'

He grabbed his head and shouted: 'Shut up, damn you!..' He hit the edge of the bed but then felt guilty because of his outburst and relaxed.

Peter could swear that together with this strange new excitement he had come to feel a powerful presence, warming and shielding, but no one was ever there when he felt it. He had not spoken to anyone about that, or about the dream that had been haunting him for a week now. He relaxed on the bed. As he stopped struggling, the voice disappeared.

Peter smiled at his own folly. Dreams, ghosts… He was old enough not to care about that crap anymore. He crossed hands bellow his head, chuckled, and then a little bit of doubt crept in. Perhaps it was that single-handed disarming of robberies in progress was not agreeing with his system. The thought made him grin ironically. Or perhaps it was the idea of Blaisdell demanding to meet him eight o'clock sharp outside the Coroner, only a few hours from now.

Peter laughed; love filled his heart. He was no stranger to getting in trouble with his foster-father, but it was not the kind of trouble that would scare him. Then his mood changed, he remembered about the ball in his stomach. The young man looked outside, and made a gesture in the air, as if caressing an invisible face.

'One day, father, one day we'll be together again.'

**THE END**


End file.
